Why do we need ushers? Apart from keeping struggling, young actors in employment, of course. The other day, at La Cage again (probably more on that at a later point), I approached one of the said ushers with my ticket, like I normally do. She was being very cheerful and polite, and said 'you're in seat nine, madam, on the third row'. I said thank you and went to find my seat.

OK, so what just happened?

1. I approached the usher. I always do this. I think it's my way of being polite, because I know perfectly well where I'm seated. It's not rocket science. Maybe I feel sorry for them, standing there by the door like wallflowers.
2. I looked confused. WHY? I mean...just WHY? What a ridiculous thing to do. I approach the usher with an apologetic smile, looking like I have just landed on this planet and want my mummy. I show them my ticket, which I have just managed to read about three times within the last minute all on my own, and want some kind of help. Just to be nice. It's like saying 'I'm an idiot and need assistance. See me wee(p) if you don't help RIGHT NOW.'
3. She called me 'madam'. At some point during the first year that I lived over here in the UK, people went from calling me 'miss' to 'madam'. I hadn't done anything differently, I think, but it happened. I want to blame the stress surrounding the move, which after all gave me my first white strands of hair. (Yet at the same time I sometimes still have to show people my ID when buying alcohol.)
4. The usher read my ticket to me. Let me stress that.

She. Just. Read. It. To. Me.

And then I thanked her for stating the obvious. Because, after all, I am a silly customer who has managed to book and pay for the ticket, dress herself, get on the right tube, find the right street and even find the right theatre and entrance, only to fall at the last hurdle, slowly losing sight of the coveted gold medal.

What utter nonsense.

Labels: humour, musicals, personal, theatre

Yay, we won. Since I'm technically still a Norwegian citizen, due to silly UK laws, I say "we" when speaking about Norway. Unless it's something negative, when it's "they".

Funny bit: Alexander Rybak claiming he won because 'he had a story to tell'. Erm, no. People liked the catchy song. The lyrics were crap!

Extreme tweeting going on yesterday; everyone who'd been dissing Eurovision all week still sat down to watch AND tweet at the same time. It was massive. I would read about 50 updates, send a tweet, then in the meantime about 50-100 new updates had been posted. Let's just say I didn't have the time to read them all. I barely watched the show, only listened to it! Great fun, though. Not such great fun this morning, when I woke up with a furry tongue and a pounding head, wondering what the hell I'd been drinking the night before and why on Io I thought that was a good idea on a work night.

Anyway, I did go to work and am now planning on how to get to the Seamen's Church later on (stop your sniggering!) in order to celebrate Norway's constitutional day with other Londoners. Hipp, hipp, hurra!

PS! If I haven't already mentioned it, you need to watch The Thick of It. I would especially recommend the specials. Excellent stuff. They're so funny, all of them. Guest Roger Allam is brilliant as leader of the opposition. I must have seen the specials four times, and it still makes me laugh out loud. DS.

Labels: comedy, music, Norway, personal, roger allam, TV

It's interesting to see that my reviews completely clashed with another's blog review - just goes to show how different we all are. Still, seems I'm not alone in thinking Allam was excellent, as most professional reviews since the press night have been more or less raving.

Just thought I ought to actually name a few more of the performers. After all, I have been calling the Cagelles just that since 2007, which is very unfair. So here goes, the cast list:

Roger Allam as Bert
Philip Quast as Ernie
Stuart Neal as their son
Alicia Davies as his fiancée
Jason Pennycooke as their maid, even though they hired a butler
Iain Mitchell as M. Ding-Dong
Abigail McKern as Mme. Ding-Dong
Tracie Bennett as the Diva Restaurateur next-door
Adrian der Gregorian as the Masochist
Nicholas Cunningham as the Sadist
Nolan Frederick, Ben Bunce, Gary Murphy, Darren Carnall, Dane Quixall, Ben Deery, Leanne Harwood, Robert Maskell, Duncan Smith, Matt Krzan, Zoë Ann Bown and Scott Spreadbury bring up the rather lovely and enticing rear.

It's a fun family day out! If you have a slightly pervy and/or open-minded family.

Book and stuff here. (I'd recommend booking before stuffing.)

Labels: musicals, philip quast, roger allam, theatre

Must be the 15th time or so that I see that show. I need a proper tattoo parlour and a proper account balance so I can get that lovely, little tattoo showing my love for La Cage aux Folles that I've been dreaming of for years. It's massive.

Anyway. Proper review for the May 13 performance. Well, as proper as I can make it.

First things first, I believe Duncan Smith stood in as Tabarro instead of Robert Maskell. Other than that they were all there. Especially the Cagelles, they were very much there. In my opinion they have certainly benefited from the move from the Menier (even though it pains me to admit it, it was actually even better at the Playhouse Theatre, which of course is a good thing, considering the excellent Menier production); they now have more room to play in, and they have grown into the roles to such a degree that they are definitely acting more now (not 'just' dancing--and before anyone hits me over the head; their dancing and acrobatics have always been nothing short of amazing). They've basically become more bitchy, something I find adds to the whole story.

Speaking of dancing, by the way; what on Io happened to Philip Quast since we last saw him? Perhaps the larger stage has done him wonders as well, because I was pleasantly surprised at his moves. Elegant, at times flamboyantly so, I would say. Especially the double back-flip which received a standing ovation. OK, I lie. But I'm certain I'm not dilly-dallying far from the truth if I say I think people would have given him a standing ovation had he done a double back-flip. Followed by a hurried search for a chiropractor in the house. But I digress (should be written on my headstone).

Right, now for the Change of the Decade. Well, the change from Graham Norton and Stephen Pacey to the surprising duo of Roger Allam and Philip Quast, respectively. 'Surprising' mostly from a personal perspective, perhaps, as I never thought I'd be able, nay allowed to see them perform on stage together. After yesterday's performance this will go down as my favourite version of my favourite musical. It couldn't possibly get any better than this, could it? If so, I dare not go see it, as I prefer my heart to be whole and in working order.

Some of us get a little carried away at the theatre, but we're usually calm and collected elsewhere.

This time around the Georges/Albin story seemed more real; I was going to say I believed they were partners, but that would have been a fib (or 'wishful thinking' as some of my slash-loving acquaintances would point out). Of course I didn't. But by Gog, they were so much more compatible than any of the previous pairings I have witnessed.

And here comes the clinch, the whole reason for you to go see the show if you have been the least bit half-on, half-off the fence up till now: They've cast an actor to play Albin. I know how that sounds, but wait for it. You see, the part of Albin is a very emotional one; he's a drama queen, ok, but it's all a façade--he's a vulnerable man who is both overly effeminate and as such should leave no doubt in anyone's mind about his sexuality, and yet so far back into the closet I have a feeling he sometimes has tea with Aslan. All brought on by society, as per usual. (How long have poets, playwrights and even screenwriters been writing about the struggle for freedom from the firm grasp of society? Digression again, sorry.) So the role of Albin cannot--well, shouldn't--be filled by someone who is just one thing, someone who cannot cope with both the out-and-out flamboyancy and the defencelessness which, after all, are two extremes switched between at increasingly fast intervals during the play. I was swept away by Allam's acting and for the first time, in 15 performances, felt that Albin really was Jean-Michel's maman.

(Of course, this means that I am dissing Dennis Storhøi. I may have to lie down and die. At least repent.)

If anyone thinks I'm saying Philip Quast isn't an actor, they should probably read the whole thing again and pay attention this time. I'm probably saying that everyone who's played Albin so far hasn't been an actor, so bring on the insults; I don't care. (I think it's been known for a while that I wasn't a fan Douglas Hodge's interpretation...)

Now then, now then, now then. For the slightly more personal and short review:

It's brilliant! Buy tickets now or lose out on something spectacular! Truly! This cast should be there all through summer (please consider holidays, days off sick etc.--annoying, I know, but it turns out they're actually...shh, don't tell anyone...real people! Who'd've thunk?), until Aug 26, but don't hold me responsible if they're not. Write to your local MP instead. I want you all to be more politically active.

And fabulous hair! PQ no longer looks like my uncle. He now looks like a Clubland version of my uncle. Urgh. Oh yeah, and I caught one of the roses and stole it thought 'finders keepers'. Currently starting to collect dust with all my other theatre memorabilia. I have tickets for two more performances (so far) because I thought 'hey, I think this may be the best version ever and I have a Mastercard!' Hopefully I won't try and beat my ten performances in five months record from Oslo 2004...that'll be a bit expensive (and stalkerish). Not to mention pathetic--I have to keep chanting 'it's just a play, it's just a play'.

Well, I hear there's a Eurovision Song Contest semi final I have to cast my vote in tonight, so got to go!

Labels: dennis storhøi, music, musicals, personal, philip quast, roger allam, theatre, TV

...The Tent, the Bucket and Me by Emma Kennedy. A tale about her 'family's disastrous attempts to go camping in the 70s'. Very funny, very enjoyable and very familiar! Although perhaps our camping trips were slightly more successful.

Labels: humour, literature

Waiting for a delivery?

Labels: humour, time wasting

Had another weird dream last night, just remembered it and cringed a little bit.

I was backstage at the theatre where they are currently performing La Cage aux Folles. It was the opening night for Roger Allam and Philip Quast; very topical in other words, as that actually happened yesterday evening. There were a lot of giggly fangirls there (I think this was brought on by having seen lots of giggly fangirls (and -boys) at the Comedy Store on Sunday; Allam/Quast don't usually have giggly fans); most of whom were about 18-20 years of age. I sat down in the corner, where the fan club president and vice president were sitting. To my knowledge, neither have an official fan club. Anyway, I thought I was safe there; I would just sit and watch for a bit and then go home, as I didn't have a ticket. The theatre was built in such a way that there was a huge panorama window facing the auditorium, so basically anyone could see the show for free, if they didn't mind being about three storeys higher than the stage.

Apparently, the two guys had agreed with the fan club that they'd stop by before the show, so they approached our little corner. Since I was sitting there, I guess they thought they should humour me as well. I was, however, trying to ignore them by reading my book. Allam would have none of that, however. He stood before me and stared at me until I put the book away, then sneered a 'and which year are you in?' I was perplexed. I tried to explain that in fact I was 31 and couldn't possibly be taken for anything below 25, but he insisted I was a pupil and should be treated as such. Quast took one look at me and then ignored me completely. Evidently, they both loathed me and I felt belittled in my own dream, so quickly left.

I am guessing this is my way of telling myself something I'm already aware of; that I'm afraid of seeming desperately stalky, but then apart from the occasional 'ok, it's slightly freakish that you turn up for a charity gig way beyond your price range' I'm not actually stalkerish in any way. Hmm...I think. Unless they're extremely wary of having people go see their show twice in as many months. Oh deary me. In that case, it's their problem. ;-)

The dream was fun, though. I mean, I've never thought of any of them as being complete bastards towards their fans (rather the opposite), so clearly this was just a figment of my imagination gone haywire.

Labels: dreams, greg proops, musicals, personal, philip quast, roger allam, theatre

I just watched Blithe Spirit, wondering why that 'eccentric medium' looked so familiar. Margaret Rutherford. Miss Marple and a lot of great character in a string of Ealing comedies. Duh.

I've also watched Brubaker and Godzilla today. Had a backlog of films I had to watch, you see. Yesterday it was The Blues Brothers (yawn; third time still not very funny or interesting) and Ice Age 2.

Also went to the Comedy Store yesterday; the crowd wasn't very enthusiastic, it seemed, so we were giving the performers a difficult time, but they handled it well and the second part, as always, was very enjoyable indeed. Richard Vranch's Swedish was so horribly Russian we were quite annoyed, but Lee Simpson, Andy Smart and Greg Proops made up for it. Neil Mullarkey was incredibly funny as the slightly miffed (read: blood-thirstily vengeful) gardener in their gothic horror musical "The Smallest Fish on Earth", and Stephen Frost was very good at guessing his job as "the guy who cleans the inside of the Tardis using the rigging of ships inside bottles every Monday, at Ladbrokes in Egypt, wearing only pants". All in all a great night out. Even though we spent the first two and a half hours of waiting for the show to start, bitching about how annoying the queueing system at the Comedy Store is. It basically prevents us from bothering going to see other shows there. I actually have other things to do than standing in line.

Things change as soon as Greg's in town, though. ;-)

Well, I've been itching to play Crysis all weekend, but have been preoccupied with reading The Book Thief. Two-thirds through it I think I'll give it a miss today.

Break a leg for the New Boys in Town* tonight. Will be seeing them next week, fingers crossed!

*) Roger Allam and Philip Quast taking over in La Cage aux Folles.

Labels: comedy, film, greg proops, hank azaria, literature, musicals, philip quast, roger allam, theatre

I had this surge of energy flowing through my body just now; brought on by an instant of feeling elated and euphoric, really. I love those moments. Too bad they don't last very long, but it does help creating inspiration for the remainder of the day, I find.

Well, it may seem like I'm lapping up anything that's posted on Twitter, but there are a few things I have to share now and then because I agree with them or feel the same way. Today it's Robert Llewellyn's musings on Twitter itself - he's had some (and I say some) bad feedback when plugging his excellent online show Carpool on Twitter, but hey, a good thing cannot be repeated too often, can it? (Well, to be honest, it can, but I don't think Llewellyn's overstepped that mark - there are way more annoying tweeters on my list that I still follow, so it's just a matter of patience and the ability to ignore certain tweets and re-tweets, I guess. Also, I am biased, since I like the show so much.)

In other news, yesterday's celebration of Queen Beatrix didn't pan out very well for a handful of people; sad to see that the one time one of my favourite countries is in the news, it's because of some tragic event. Apparently the driver died earlier this morning.

Also, I think eating noodles in the office should be punishable by death. Or at least banned. Every bloody day someone (usually several people) in this office eats stinky noodles, with all the slurping that brings. I mean, for gog's sake, how difficult could it be to go somewhere else for those 15 minutes? And why the hell do they need to eat no less than three meals each during office hours? At different times, of course, so that we're basically listening to slurping all day long.

Labels: current affairs, personal, technology, work